A Virgin Lamb: Crashing Gotham's Parties III
by Clayzinc
Summary: The walls are fluffy, Ra's drops by again and a bat is carved into flesh. Part III of a series.


**Title:** A Virgin Lamb: Crashing Gotham's Parties III

**Summary:** More-than-a-bit-but-not-wildly-AU. "And, see this room; it's all _white_. And, _white-_ very nice, very _crisp_- just isn't, ah, _bright _enough for me. I much prefer-…_red_." Part III of a series about various interruptions and the aftermath. In this part: the walls are _fluffy_, Ra's drops by again- _kinda_- and a bat is carved into flesh. Set around a month after 'The Dark Knight'.

This story was previously published on - by me! But with a different nom de plume- as a chaptered story, but is now being re-uploaded as one-shots, because I'm annoying like that. And have yet to finish the final part.

WARNING: Violence and perhaps even straight-up gore in this part. And the Joker's homoerotic musings.

* * *

PART III_: '__**CLOWN TERRORIST TRANFERRED TO ARKHAM ASYLUM: POLICE COMMISSIONER ASSURES PUBLIC THAT MONTHS OF VIOLENCE ARE NOW 'BEHIND' GOTHAM'**_

It was night or, er, _thereabouts_; it's awful hard to say when ya haven't got any _windows_.

Before he was put in 'solitary', his room- his old room- had a small window like a, um, an _envelope_ and it had been grey out there all the time; it always seemed that way in the Narrows. Washed out. Kinda ominous and sinister and uninviting.

_Homely_, as far as he was concerned.

So, _really_, it didn't _matter _that he didn't have windows or even _a_ window, _sing-u-lar_- he just had four padded walls and a padded ceiling to look at, with a padded floor to stand and sit and lie and roll on- 'cos it wouldn't make a damn bit of difference to his _view_.

Even the festering slop that masqueraded as meals in _Chez Arkham_ didn't help him differentiate night from day; Breakfast Mush looked like Lunch Mush, which was indistinguishable from Dinner Mush and, this being the case, it didn't make sense to call them 'Breakfast' or whatever 'cos he didn't know if it _was_. _Breakfast_, that is. It _was_; it _existed_. Even if he wished it didn't 'cos it was so goddamn taste_less_ it might as well just be make-believe; food he thought up in his head was far more _exotic_.

Sometimes, he liked to _imagine_ that two consecutive _meals_ were breakfast and it felt like a _treat_; he always grinned and giggled and fluttered his eyelashes at the orderlies- always at _least_ two; for _their_ safety. _Shucks, guys; two for little old me? You'll make me **blush**!_ What was he gonna do? Stab them with his plastic _baby food _spoon? Ac-tu-ally- _hey!_- that was an idea…- who delivered and removed his plastic- _everything in this **frightful** place is stuffed with cotton wool or made of plastic; how am I meant to have** fun**?_- food tray. A few times, he'd received a swift slap round the face for his _cheer; _tryin' to liven the place up and he got a smack! (Not that he didn't enjoy it, but if the orderlies figured that out, _all_ the _pleasure _would be gone from his current existence.)

Lots of the _fellas _on the staff were a little, _hmm_, 'nervous' around him, for some reason. Well, okay; so he'd bitten off some fingers- two? Three?- of the idiots who'd dared to hit his _beau-ti-ful_ face when he was clearly not in the mood- he'd _told _them! He'd said; 'Not today, darlings; I need some _me_ time'- and, well, he'd never get his picture in the tabloids if his visage was ruined. The_ inhumanity_!

The other loonies- _I believe 'patients' is the generally accepted term, huh? Personally I have very little 'patience' so I don't think this 'being a pa**tient**' thing is gonna work. Hahaheha!_ – weren't too fond of him, either. It didn't really concern him all that much, 'cos-_ let's face it_- _nobody _liked him. A couple of his hench-clowns worshipped him- he'd _almost_ been tempted to start a religion, but wasn't sure if he had the time for all that _responsibility_ and blessing of fat, screaming babies when he'd rather just cut out their tongues- but that wasn't the same as _liking_. He was abhorred- _detested, hated, ostracised; take your pick!_- by the 'normal' folk and that was so much _better_. Hatred made ya feel so much more _alive_ than _pure affection_- _what **bull**crap_!- did.

They called him a dazzling array of _imaginative_- they were all real _artists_, real_ scholars_- insults, on the rare occasions that he passed them their cells or in the corridor; he wasn't allowed to _mingle_ anymore. Not after the, _ah_, riots and the man who choked to death on spaghetti; _I swear it wasn't **me**, Doc. I'm really more of a, uh, **fettuccine** guy.  
_

One; 'freak', 'crazy-ass freak' and multiple _permutations_. Either these particular crazies grasped the concept of irony- doubtful- or were so 'ill'- read: fucking _insane_- that they didn't realise _they_ were in an _asylum_; they probably believed they were in a five-star hotel.

'What simply appalling service at _The Arkham Ritz_, my love; I called for room service weeks ago! I most certainly shall not be staying here again!'

_Hehehehahaha! Oh, ha, he!_

There were an awful lot of _The Rich_ in Arkham; probably something in the _Perrier_. He wouldn't be surprised if they wrote to the most prestigious hotel guides- not that they were allowed pens or even pencils. Or paper; lethal papercuts-, pissed and wanting their money back; 'accommodation not as described. Most disappointed.'

Insult of choice number two; 'fag', 'faggot', 'fairy' etcetera, _etcetera_. _Easy_ explanation; they all wanted a _piece_. He couldn't blame them; he had an uncommonly fine ass.

He felt no shame for getting his, ah, _fill_- he wanted the Bat;_wantedwantedgottahaveBrucie!Comeoncomecomeon_- of delight where he could find it. His _love _for Batsy- 'Obsession,' declared the last Doc he'd seen, shaking his head stiffly; 'Uh, no, Big Guy. My love is as _wholesome_ as a virgin _lamb_ in a white wedding dress. I'd even go so far as to say _platonic_,' he'd countered; _these fools will never understand what we have, Baby_!- made him feel far from shame; it was _necessary_, created him, saved him, _damned_ him- fuck, like he _cared_ about damnation! _Damn away!_

It wasn't like they even knew about his sex life, anyway. They just assumed that 'cos he put on 'make-up' and knew fine tailoring when he saw it- _damn _fine; he dressed _magnificently_ and they were all envious of his sartorial elegance -, he was 'some homo.' Half-true, but very, _very_ small-minded. _Tut, tut_; it was the _2000's_!

And, the last of the top three- his _personal_ choice when he envisaged scenarios where he slaughtered everyone in the immediate area; he did voices for all the people he encountered in his little stories- was, predictably, 'clown.' Like _that_ was _offensive_. _Pfft_. He dressed like a _freakin' _clown. That was the _idea._

Retards.

_Oh, um, what had he been-_

Yeah!

It was night, maybe- he _preferred_ night, anyway, as an idea- and there was some vaguely Asian guy with a high collar, black eyes and a thin, _well-kept_ moustache in his cell. This was unusual, even for him. Or, at least, _unexpected_.

_Did they up my meds dose, huh? Where's my Bat **mirage**?_

The lights had just flared onto full brightness-_ 'morning' already? Rude!_- and the Joker was blinking like a, um- _what was the word?-…owl! Owlishly!_ 'Batishly', maybe? _Did_ Bats blink? He'd like it if they did.

_His_ Bat blinked. The Joker could tell when he did 'cos he wore black around his eyes- _We can do each other's make-up, Batman! Please, oh, please! I promise I'll be, ah, gentle with you…Heh!_- and the repetitive momentary contrast between his coal-black- _like night and hate and **filth** and leather_- eyelids and the healthy-bright-white of his eyes was startling in a way that ya didn't notice until ya got in close to the Bat, which was, _by the way,_ the Joker's absolute _favourite_ place to be.

(Closely followed by 'near a building that he had just blown up and was,_ in fact_, still, _gloriously_ on fire'.)

Especially if, at some point in the _conversation_- 'cos his Bat was so _talkative_; couldn't get a word in- Batsy _assaulted_ him. He always hurt him so _good_. Like no one else ever had, ever _could_-

Carefully, deliberately, the Joker, who had been sat with his knees drawn up, pressed tightly against his chest, back flat against the centre of the room's _fluffy_ East wall, stretched out his legs and peered curiously up at his _visitor_.

He sure didn't _look_ like a psychiatrist or a psychotherapist or a psychologist or whichever 'psy' person they were gonna use on him next.

"Hel-_lo_," he said brightly, cheerful at the unexpected intrusion; finally some _spice_ in his life! Locked away from the Bat…he was so _alone_.

A limp-wristed gesture indicated the room.

"Forgive me if I don't offer, a, uh, a chair. _Heh, heh_! They seem to have just _walked off_...Chairs have got legs? Get it? Huh?"

Not one _muscle_ twitched in Vaguely-Asian's face.

_Tough crowd._

And sorta _familiar_.

"_Soooo_," the Joker rumbled, interlocking his fingers and stretching his arms above his head. Tendons, and all those other wonderful parts- _cut 'em out, lay 'em on a table_-, in his fingers and wrists cracked- _oh, right __**there**_- _delightfully_.

He paused, narrowing his eyes in thought. He looked Vaguely-Asian up and down.

_Oh, I __**see**__._

Self-righteous face. _Foreign_. _Stealthy. _Austere. _Grumpy_-lookin'…_Ding-ding-ding-aling-aling_!

_We have a _**_winner_**_!_

"You're the new _Ra'sssssss_." He drew the already-exaggerated sibilance of the 's's out _too_ long, but he enjoyed it, so where was the problem, _hmm_? There was the added benefit of a slight _spit_ situation. There was wetness on his chin; he didn't wipe it off, even when it started to itch.

"I come to you from the League of Shadows." The confirmation was delivered gravely, in a generic- _Global_, sorta- accent. He coupled this with a regal incline of his head, not _quite_ pulling it off as well as Razmatazz.

The Joker's tongue travelled slowly, _teasingly_, from the corner of his mouth, across his lip, back inside…Just to see what Vaguely would do.

"Uh, huh," he said finally, in response to the previous declaration. His reward was a long, steady stare.

A long pause.

_Uh, __**awkward**__._

"Y'know, it's kinda dis-, um, _discourteous _to bust in on a lady in her _boudoir_. You've caught me _undressed _and without my, huh, _without_-" he failed to contain a short spurt of giggling, "-_my face on_! _Ha_!"

_Indeed_, they had _not_ liked his painted face and had disallowed the _paint _upon his admission to Arkham. Bastards, all of 'em; dragging him into _uniformity. _

(If he looked like _everyone_, then he was _no one_. If he was _no one_, he'd _disappear_-)

"I have occasion to speak with you," Ra's-Two stated, his face hardly moving _again_. It was weird and boring and the Joker didn't like it; his hand itched for a razor, to hack into that face and _peel_ and make it _remarkable_-

The Joker blew out a puff of annoyed breath. Some stranger busting in on him-…it had started out so _promising_ and then quickly deteriorated into _tedium_. Sigh. The story of his life. (He couldn't verify that; he didn't _know_ his story. Didn't even know the _start_.)

After a while, he frowned, sucking pensively on his lips.

"You're definitely not some meds-fuelled fantasy. I can _tell_. I prefer my hallucinations tall, dark and mysterious. Oh and, uh, _uh_, wearing a _cape_."

He grinned and temporarily drifted off into his 'Batplace.'

_Oh, __**Bats**_-

"I only have one order of business that I wish to discuss with you, " Vaguely said evenly, as if the Joker hadn't _spoken a word_.

_You did __**not**__ just ignore me_. _Fuckface. Oh, we are __**done**__, here._

Calmly, the Joker repositioned his legs so that he was sitting with his legs crossed, leaning forward slightly. He wondered if Mr. League realised that he'd decided to kill him.

"I don't _like_ you," the Joker informed him casually- he traced the material of his own pant leg with his finger; figure of eight, cross, 'D-I-E'-, "You 'n your band of _Unmerry_ Men-" he gestured expansively, agitatedly, with his idle hand, "-; you're just so damn _predictable_. I don't like people who're _blatant_ about their pretty little plots. You _disgust_ me. What's worse, you don't, um, _interest_ me. At _all_. Hum. _Sorry_."

He couldn't quite decide what the new expression on Vaguely's face was, but it had hardly changed- it _had, _though, just a bit- so _surprise_.

The Joker steepled his fingers professionally, holding his hands close to his lips for a moment, as if considering.

"And-" he continued, jerking his hands forwards decisively,"- you wanna kill _my_ Bat. Honey, that just won't _do_. _No_. It's just _not_ how things- how they'_re_ gonna work."

He shifted his weight, shuffled a little.

"No, no, _no_," he mumbled, "_My_ Bat. _Not_ him; you won't. My _city_."

Vaguely, appearing only mildly ruffled, opened his mouth, assumedly to speak and not do anything _noteworthy_ such as breaking into song or making, hum, a _racoon_ emerge from the fleshy orifice.

The Joker didn't care to find out.

He _pounced._

Taking advantage of Vaguely's momentary shock- the guy was _trained, _a goddamn _Ninja _or some shit; he'd have to work fast-, he slammed his forehead mercilessly into his _opponent's_-_fightfightfightnotBatsdon'tcare!-_ nose, cackling with glee when his forehead announced its displeasure with a blossoming pain across the front of his skill.

_Ow, ow, ow! Hehahahahohe!_

Without pause, he drove his knee repeatedly into the guy's crotch- 'grunt, grunt, grunt!' _Keep in time with the __**music**_!- and then, when he doubled over, kicked upwards, his whole lower leg connecting with the _general_ stomach area. But kicks- and not very _good_ ones; wearing asylum-issue, lace-free tennis shoes wasn't conducive to inflicting real _agony_- and crotch-pain wasn't his goal or aim or _whatever._

He slipped his hands down Vaguely's sides, even as he recovered and sent his left fist _soundly _into the Joker's cheek. The Joker staggered, laughing outright- _My_! _I haven't had a whack like that in __**months**_-, but he had his prize.

A small, pitiful dribble of blood was making itself known just beneath Vaguely's nose. He was growling a little, now and the Joker almost felt sorry that, just when things _might get interesting_-

One swiftly-_pilfered- well-crafted, I might add; nice gear, League of Evil, Unimaginative Shitmeisters- _blade in each hand, the Joker lurched towards the other man- the only _real_ human in the room; he was better, _more_, had to be that way right now- and swiped across-and-down, jabbed in an arm, dropped one knife and grabbed a hold of a neck. Insert blade into mouth.

_I __**know**__ this game. It's the __**best**__ one._

Vaguely struggled. Unfortunately- for _Vaguely_-, the Joker's skill had always been _speed_- quick, quick, quick (_Jack be nimble, Jack be quick, Jack jump over the candlestick!)- _and _style_, but that was _irrelevant_ at the mo and the rapid succession of blows and the not-really-shallow slit in his belly- _gut him; gut him like a fish or an animal or a mother!_- rendered him dazed and useless.

_I expected better. Good thing I came to the, uh- had a __**realisation**__ about your __**gang**__ after Al spoke to me. After I realised that the Bat was worth __**more**__._

"You'd really think," the Joker began offhandedly, "That, uh, that a guy like you- in your profession-…_vocation_, is it? Like a, uh, like a _priest_, right? A _calling_?- would know _better- _by now_- _than to enter a cell with a _man-iac_, like me, who just _loves_ knives- _loves_ 'em-, wearing several knives within easy range of my nim- _nimble_ fingers should I just happen to make a grab for 'em. 'Cos, really, Sweetie; that's just _careless_. _Very _disappointing. What _would_ Al say?"

Vaguely said nothing. The Joker twisted the knife a little, _sliced, _a small slit where the top and bottom lip joined.

_You'll be like me, like __**me**__. Then you'll have to die 'cos you can't be __**like**__ me. No one can. If you're like me, who would I be?_

Stillness. _Nothing_. Resigned to death? Probably some sacred duty.

The Joker glared, annoyed at the lack of reaction- _give me something, gimme, make it __**funny**_- and shook Vaguely, hand digging into his throat like a claw. His nails had been cut short- don't want the clown to _scratch_ himself to death- so it didn't inflict much pain…It was the _thought_ that counted.

(_Flowers on your birthday, fire on mine, why? Why _**_did_**_ it cross the road?)_

"I'm _glad_ your Ra's failed. He was a _fuck_tard. He, uh-…the Bat's better than him. Too _good_. He deserves better. From me. I'll give him better. _Watch_ me; I will."

"Unf'like'fly-" _finally_! _It speaks; good dog_! _Still too cool, though. And muffled by a knife; can't have everything_, "League has'h ah pref'ence in Goff'am, fe Batman if'our priority-"

_Just you __**try**__ it, buster. Touch him, __**minemineminemine**__, and-_

_I won't have to worry about you, in a few minutes, Ra's-Mark-Two. Your pals, maybe…Oh, I can find them and put them in an industrial blender. Serve 'em as smoothies in one of those classy 'Juice Bars' uptown._

"This is _our_ town," the Joker hissed- _**he's**__ mine! He's __**mine**_!-, "_Mine_ and Bats'. And we do not take _kindly _to naughty non-uh-non-Gotham-_ites rollin_' into the city and thinking they can just rip it apart. _Not_ cool, Ra's-Less-Convincing-Replacement. It's our playground and you're the, er, well- I'm sorry- but you're the fat, geeky pyroman-i-ac that no one likes."

_I may be a __**slight**__- uh, okay, I __**am**__ a pyromaniac, but look at me; I'm __**stunning**__._

Cocking his head, the Joker suddenly met Vaguely's eyes questioningly.

"Can I, uh-…Before I kill you, I gotta know; did you actually _like_ Al's moustache? You probably- he was your _boss_. Looking back, I gotta say that I find it kinda- I _hated_ it! Sm-_smirking_ at me! I can't even _grow_ one, y'know; not that I'd try."

"'Oo f'insane," Vaguely informed him, like it was a freakin' _revelation_.

The Joker gave an impatient roll of his eyes.

"Yeah, I'm also a Virgo at weekends; what's your, ah, _point_?"

Vaguely said nothing.

Tonguing his scars restlessly, the Joker started to slowly rotate the blade in his victim's mouth, but-

_Fuck __**this**__._

The twist of his wrist- _He_; _I'm a poet and I didn't even know it!-_ halted and his whole body tensed- _let me at him, let me at him_- in preparation to _strike_.

"I'm bored of you now," he remarked blandly, but, _gosh_, there must've been _somethin'_ in his tone 'cos when he met Vaguely's eyes, the muscles around Vaguely's eyes sorta _spasmed-_ like they were having their own little death throes, in _anticipation_- and his own smile grew and grew and _grew_.

"And, see this room-" he jerked his hand in gesture, but 'cos his hand was _partly_ in Vaguely's mouth- some of his fingers, the tips of 'em and a bit, uh, _more_; knuckle territory- only the knobbly, bony part of his wrist really pointed anywhere,"-it's all _white_. And, _white-_ very nice, very _crisp_- just isn't, ah, _bright _enough for me. I much prefer-…_red_."

The next few minutes were kinda of a- _whatcha call it?-_ _blur_. He knew that he sliced up the guy's face- _a grin like __**me**__! We can start a club! I have trouble sharing, will that be a problem?_- and that he cut said face so fiercely that some of the blood splattered the wall and he remembered the fleshy tendrils of jagged flesh hanging down like wiggly worms dipped in carmine.

While the poor little Ninja was clutching at his face- _**yeah**__, Buddy; your __**hands**__'ll stick it back together-,_ the Joker carelessly _strolled _to stand behind him and, whistling tunelessly, slashed two _deep- deep, deep, yes, right down to the bone; drink more milk and your bones get __**stronger**__!- _crosses- _'X' marks the spot, hmm? Where's my treasure?- _into the back of Vaguely's knees. He immediately- _no fun; I wanted to beat ya down!-_ stumbled and ended up on the ground, blood- _**there**__ you are my old friend! Mommy missed you!- _starting to soak into the softness of the padded floor.

After tha_t_, it was like _child's play_. He carved a bat- _all for __**you**__- _into Ra's-Two's back, but he might've, _unintentionally_- _this is why you're not __**allowed**__ pets!_- stabbed too _hard _and a rib splintered and cracked like a twig and Vaguely's breathing started sounding wet and when he turned his head, looking back at the Joker almost _de-__**lerious**__-ly_- _I know how ya feel_, _Bud_- , little pinkish-red bubbles appeared when he breathed. It was so _cute_.

The knives _were_ sharp, though not really sharp _enough _to cut through large amounts of muscle and all that other stuff that he knew by sight and _feel-_ yet couldn't name-, but- _damn it!- _hewas gonna _try_.

Always gotta _try_.

He turned the blade on its side and started to _saw_- _back-forward, forward-back_- through the back of Vaguely's thighs. He didn't bother cutting off his pants first- _what a __**waste**__ of my valuable __**time**_- so some of the material got caught in the gaping, uneven wounds and it would probably get infected; did that really matter, though? Vaguely was already half-dead- which, _actually_, being the insipid moron he was, he probably had been in his entire 'life'; _poor fool_- and- _sadly_- fading fast.

_Alas, poor Vaguely; I knew him-…not really that well, at __**all**__. __**Someone**__ probably cares that he's dead. Maybe; dunno why. He is survived by a poodle named Fluffychops, a rubber plant called 'Steve' and some highly-polished, oak nunchucks. Oooh, I wonder if he has any-_

_Momentarily_ abandoning his dissection of Vaguely's lower body, he sat back on his heels and surveyed the sorry excuse for a man in front of him.

_If I were an Evil Ninja, where would I keep my nunchucks?_

Well, if Vaguely's behaviour was anything to go by, _up his freakin' ass_.

"_Hmmm_."

Tapping his chin in delicate contemplation, he then leant over the prone form and none-too-gently grasped up and down Vaguely's sides and across the lower part of his back- his upper back had been mostly exposed when he did his bat sketch-, checking for anything concealed and sorta, um, _sticks-and-some-chain-shaped_. Vaguely groaned and coughed scratchily throughout.

_Noisy. Victims should be seen and not heard! Hahahaha! No, carry on; I like it when they __**sing**__._

"Nothin'," he pouted, sitting back again. He prodded a finger into Vaguely in the middle of the bat on his back- _bat on his back, bat on his back, heh,heh; wish the fucking Bat would take a __**hint**__ and put __**me**__ on __**my**__ back_- and Vaguely started gasping.

"I wanted _nunchucks_."

He went to work again.

The room was turning red- the walls and floor and even the _ceiling_- and Vaguely was turning white.

_Much better_.

Finally _finished_- to his _high_ standards, oh yes- he stood, rubbing his hands together as if to clean off dust; it just created swirls and patterns in the syrupy- _mmm; syrup! I feel like __**pancakes**_!- black-redness that coated them.

"Really warms up the room, Ra's-Two, huh?" he mused, slowly turning on the spot to assess his handiwork.

There was a heart finger-painted on the wall- a _big_ heart, with little rivulets running off it like _the building_ was _actually_ bleeding- and he didn't recall doing it, but knew he _must_ have.

He smiled, puffed up with pride.

Vaguely hadn't responded.

The Joker, scowling darkly, nudged him in the side with his foot.

"_Hey_!" he said, indignant, "I asked you a question. _Really warms up the_- oh, uh- _oh_; you're _dead_."

He put his hands on his hips. Lifted his hands off, put them back down again. He rolled his eyes excessively.

"Well, what am I meant to do _now_?"

_**Oh**__. Wait a sec-_

If Vaguely got _in_-

He twisted his body around, legs tangling, to cast his gaze towards the door.

-_Then I can get __**out**_**.**

The Joker's chin snapped down as his eyes wildly scanned the former-Mr.-Vaguely.

"Keys, keys, _keys_," he chanted, stooping low, squinting, nose wrinkling and then breathing in _deep_ when the aroma of freshly cut flesh and blood and _insides, _smacked him full in the face, "Where are your- _aha_!"

Fumbling his fingers inside a blood-damp front pocket, they snagged part of a keychain and he tugged and straightened.

"Standard-issue crazyhouse keys, as sported by orderlies and Doctors _everywhere_. They keep _their's_ in a safer place-" he wagged an admonishing finger,"- You really should've learnt from their good ex- uh, _example_."

The suddenly Joker felt heavy and exhilarated all at once; he was_ flying_, with weights in his stomach.

_Get out. Find Brucieman. Get some matches._

He sighed, bowing in Vaguely's direction.

"It's been _fun,_ but it's time for me to leave. I've got to, _er_-…catch a _bus_? Blow one up, maybe. Pay a visit to my sweetheart, for sure. And we simply don't have anything in _common_, Honeybunch. _See ya_!"

The Joker traced his lips with his tongue and then ambled towards the cell door.

_If he got in and no one __**noticed**__- no one came in so they __**didn't **__notice or maybe the Leaguey League's killed all the staff…__**Naw**__; too __**notice**__able- then the, er- _he glanced towards the corner, raising his eyebrow- _then the surveillance is off. __**Big Brother's**__ blind…Why, this escape's gonna be as easy as takin' crack from a whore!_

Closing his eyes in anticipation, he slotted the key into the lock and _turned_-

_Click-click-clickity-click! __**Yehaw!**_

With an innocent whistle, the Joker opened the door and poked his head out.

No one _around_. It didn't matter if there _had_ been; he had a knife stuffed into his sock and one in his hand for _safety_.

(Vaguely had a sword strapped against his leg- _why didn't ya __**use**__ it_? _I betcha Razamatazz would've; __**shame**_!- and the Joker _had_ been tempted, but, they were kinda _ungainly _and he'd probably lose it and Bats might get _manhood_ issues if he showed up with such a _superior_ weapon.)

He skipped off down the hallway, humming.

"_We're off to see the Batman, the wonderful Batman of Oz, uh, Goth__**oz**_!"

It occurred to him, as he waited for an elevator and twitched in excitement- _I'm gonna see him_! _I am, I am, I __**am**_!- that it had been unwise, plain _stupid_, for Vaguely to tell him the League's plans. He was obviously- 'cos he adored his Bat so _very_ much- gonna go straight to the Bat and _warn_ him. And, hopefully, other, more _physical_ pursuits. _Heh_.

_Wonder what he wanted to dis__**cuss**__ with me? The latest plan for 'Operation Squash Gotham'? Heh! Not in-ter-ested, Buster! Why tell me about Bats, though, __**why**__-_

He promptly forgot all such thoughts when he realised that he was dressed in the _nauseating _decaying-pumpkin orange of the Arkham uniform.

_This won't do at __**all**__. Bats can't see me like __**this**__! I need to, er-_

The Joker needed to put on his _face_ and his _skin_.

He whistled jauntily- the elevator arrived and he thumbed 'Basement', swearing scarlet all over the controls- and swept a hand through his hair; he nicked his eyebrow with the knife _still in_ his hand as he did.

The Joker lapped it off- _tastes like me __**and**__ Vaguely_-, tapping his foot in an impatient rhythm as the elevator descended.

_To the Tailor! Uh, __**Taxi**__!_

_

* * *

All thoughts are most welcome. The final part of the series will be written at some point, but I've no idea when. If you prefer, you can simply imagine what the Joker gets up to after his escape; it'd probably be better than anything that I might write, anyway.  
_


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